


Colorblind Soulmates

by reynkout



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Best Friends, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon - Anime, Canonical Character Death, Colorblindness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gentle Sex, Inspiration, M/M, Mutual Pining, Old Wives' Tales, Oral Sex, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Soulmates, Sex, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8987977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynkout/pseuds/reynkout
Summary: Jean couldn't believe it. How could he have been so blind to lose the one he loves? Now, he must think back to the moments that could have been the change of it all.Merry Kirschmas!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsallaboutflowermetaphors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutflowermetaphors/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Jana! I'm your Secret Santa this year. Like you couldn't guess that at all. lol Frohe Weihnachten!!  
> I hope everyone who reads this enjoys the story. I poured my heart and soul into this. Fun fact: during this writing period, I also took a colorblind exam at the doc's and found out that I'm colorblind to a specific shade of green and blue. They look the same to me! :-O

He can see nothing, nothing but pitch black, darker than night itself. It makes him shiver, an almost melancholic feeling settling over his being. It chills him to the core. No, more than that.

It makes him _fear_ the lack of light.

Muffled sounds, all around him, confusing him in every which way. How can he reply when he cannot even decipher what the others are speaking about if there are people near him? 

“... Look out!”

It's a shushed voice that falls on his ears, pulling him forward towards some unseen surface. He feels the pull, the force, dragging him from the chest up. It’s not gentle, not friendly to him. It is as if it wants to knock the breath out of him, to sidekick him until he can no longer fight back. Except he’s not fighting back. He’s letting all this happen to him, unsure of himself and where he is.

“Jean!”

Another jerk towards the surface, this time taking his right arm. Is that his name? Is this soft one-syllable what he is called? He can’t remember anymore. It’s too hard to tell when he cannot yet see, let alone hear clearly.

He imagines he must be underwater, or at least his ears are. Noises always sound like this when he dunks his head in the lukewarm baths his momma draws for him. It’s all so indistinct, the dialogue he hears, though his brain attempts to make sense of it; it makes it into words that may or may not be truly said.

“Fuck it all, Jean!”

 _That_ snaps his concentration… or lack of, more like. He now knows what he is called, though who he is is still floating somewhere in his mind, uncertain, just like he is.

His name is _Jean Kirstein_.

A burst of white surges from the blackness he sees in front of him, diluting like ink in alcohol. It is gone as quickly as it came. Jean feels a pang of disappointment within his being; he wants to see that bright white again. It brought him exhilarating… joy (he does not have any other word for it) as soon as he saw it.

His name is Jean Kirstein, and he is part of the 104th squad in the training regiment.

Several white spots appear in his vision, making his lips tug upwards. He has a _mouth_. He has a face, eyes and nose and mouth, he realizes. It’s coming back to him- he’s a human, a strong one at that, and he and his squad are fighting against the titans. He has gone through hell and high water, and it’s not over yet.

_”JEAN!”_

Jean gasps, eyes opening as big as the size of the moon. The light is blinding, and all he can see is white, before the tracings of rectangular and triangular shapes come into his line of sight. Those shapes are outlines of buildings, his mind informs him, and he’s supposedly standing atop of one himself.

Looking to his side, there’s someone screaming at him. Armin, he sees, as soon as his vision becomes a little bit clearer. There’s something strange about it, though. Something he can’t quite put a finger on until Jean looks into Armin’s eyes.

They’re light, yeah, bright like all light-colored eyes are. Except they’re pale.

Jean stumbles back, reeling.

They’re pale, not blue. Not like he normally sees it. They’re just pale, like all the color has washed away, leaving a reminiscent greyish shade. Armin’s eyes still reflect the sun, as alive as ever. Why shouldn’t he be, though? Obviously, Armin is standing right next to him and yelling his name.

Jean gulps, observing everything else about his comrade. That blond hair of Armin’s is now almost absent of color, like white straw upon his head. His skin is porcelain, with shades of grey where his contours are. Jean can’t see any color on him. He whips his head around to study Mikasa and another cadet he doesn’t know the name of. They, too, are in black, white and grey.

How is this possible, he thinks. What in the world is happening?

“Get down.” Mikasa hisses, and everyone crouches to the tiles on the roof they’re on before propelling themselves to the ground below.

Jean numbly follows, saying nothing, as he is straight up dumbfounded.

* * *

He can’t figure out how it happened exactly. Armind had filled him in later, after the whole getting off the roof thing. Supposedly, Jean had been scouting out the village area with Armin when he suddenly blanked out.

“You froze, like you had been shot or something.” Armin had said, but they both knew no guns had been fired. “But you didn’t crumble.”

What a nice way to put it, Jean thought. “Were you scared?” Jean then asked.

Armin looked at him as if he was wearing a jester’s costume instead of his regular uniform and gear. “Why do you think I was screaming at you?”

This only confused Jean further. He couldn’t recall anything except for Armin’s screaming. He shivered at the thought. Jean couldn’t draw back to any memory where Armin and him were surveying the area, let alone when he blacked out. But Armin swore it was the truth.

And now he is to assist the med team do a fatality count and clean up the wretched mess the titans had made. Just great, he rolls his eyes. He’d rather not come in physical contact with the dead.

Drawing a handkerchief tight around the lower half of his face, Jean blinks rapidly, testing his vision. To tell the truth, his eyes are still just as shot as ever; he isn’t able to see color, and it’d been more than a few hours since his little blackout had occurred.

Armin, with Jean’s new eyesight, is as white as snow. That is the only thing Jean can compare his comrade to. It is like he was washed of all color, almost an outline instead of a whole, three-dimensional being, save for the shades of grey when the sun casts a shadow upon him. Jean fears that, if he doesn’t pay close enough attention to him, Armin could disappear from his sight at any moment.

As for Mikasa, well, she is more noticeable. Her black hair is stark in contrast to everything around her. Though her skin is equally just as pale as Armin’s, Jean notices that her lips have a slightly darker tint to them. Her clothing stands out in certain areas, whereas Armin’s does not. She is still beautiful, Jean knows, but not in the way he thinks anymore. She is dangerously beautiful; something Jean is smart enough not to touch. He stays his distance, which he counts as a wise thing to do.

Eren, on the other hand… Jean doesn’t want to think about Eren. They’ve had beef with each other since Jean had first met him in training camp. Jean would rather not spend his energy summoning up Eren’s face in his mind’s eye.

“Quadrant B, report the death toll in District 9 by the end of the day.” commands one of the med team leaders, snapping Jean out of his thoughts. Jean can only guess this guy is the one who is manning the operation. “Quadrant F will follow your lead with their wagons to collect the remains of those you have counted.”

Jean thinks he might be ill just hearing all this talk of death. Something in his gut doesn’t feel right, but he trudges on with his group to their designated district. He faintly wonders where the rest of his squad is, for he does not see any familiar face in sight. If any of them were there with him, he wouldn’t feel as anxious as he is now. Maybe, he admits, if his _friend_ was here, he’d be much less jittery. As he shuffles along with his quadrant, he’s taken back to one of his happier memories…

_”Bad day, huh?” Marco plops down next to Jean, who is sitting on his bunk._

_Yeah, it’s been a bad day for both of them. Jean hit his head twice during sparring, almost getting his shoulder dislocated by none other than Reiner. He swears that boy has the strength of a black bear. He rubs his arm, the one that is most sore, instead of shrugging. Moving his shoulders would cause him unnecessary pain._

_“Is that even a question?” Jean scoffs._

_Marco does the shrugging for both of them. “Annie’s got some good technique, and so does Reiner.” he says simply. “Hey, Jean…”_

_Jean notices that he’s looking down at Marco’s lap, studying the way Marco’s long legs fill out those uniform pants he is wearing. They’ve both bulked up in muscle since they had first arrived to camp, but Marco seems to have gotten even buffer than Jean. Or maybe Marco is going through another growth spurt, and needs new pants that would actually fit him. Marco’s thighs are clad so tightly in those trousers that it almost leaves no imagination for Jean whatsoever. He quickly looks up at Marco’s freckle-covered face._

_Bad idea. Marco is just as appealing as his thighs are in those too-tight pants._

_There must be over a hundred freckles scattered upon Marco’s face, all different shades of nutmeg brown; like cinnamon dusted atop a tan cream. His full brows aren’t like Jean’s, curving only slightly to make him look content, pleased and peaceful. His eyelashes are so long, sweeping over freckled cheeks when his eyes flutter closed, hitting his brow bone when he opens them again. His lips are full and moist, not in the least bit chapped like Jean’s own. They’re so pink and plush that his lips look a little pouty from a distance._

_“Urghn?” comes from Jean’s mouth, and he swears internally at how fucking dumb he must sound._

_Marco smiles gently at him. Jean pretends he doesn’t feel something stirring within his chest. His cheeks are probably turning red, too. “Can I massage your shoulder?” he asks, and Jean nearly chokes on his own spit. “Are you alright?”_

_Jean clears his throat a little more than needed, but he manages to regain control of himself. “I’m f-fine.” he says. “Oh!” Jean yelps when he feels Marco put pressure on the muscle between his neck and shoulder. “Oh,” When the freckled boy starts to rub in circles upon his neck, Jean can feel himself loosening up, his tense neck slowly going slack due to Marco’s work._

_“I can really feel the knot here.” Marco sounds determined to relieve Jean of any soreness, kneading the especially tense spot just short of Jean’s shoulder blade._

_“Ach,” Jean winces._

_“You okay?” Marco checks in with him, immediately easing up._

_Jean nods, leaning back for more. “I’m good. Marco, you’re really good at this.” he bites out as Marco shuffles to sit behind him and resume his massaging. He tries not to shrink into himself whenever the freckled boy massages away the knots in his back._

_“Thanks, I try.” Marco sounds bashful, but Jean can’t pay attention to that detail._

_No, Jean’s too busy attempting to hold himself still and take everything that Marco will give him. Even though the massage hurts, it also allows him to be close to Marco. So close, in fact, that Marco’s voice is next to Jean’s ear, his breath hitting the shell of it every time he talks. It makes him not know what to do, yet he’s so relaxed and loose that he might just melt from Marco’s massage._

The stench of rotting filling Jean’s nostrils is gag-worthy, and he holds a gloved hand to his already covered nose. It _stinks_ worse than the horse stalls, where Marco and he would always have to tend to when there was nothing more to do in camp but run laps upon endless laps around the campus. He keeps walking with his group, taking down the count of fatalities along with what they looked like and if he can identify any of them.

Jean is almost thankful that he isn’t able to see in color, for he would most likely be puking up bile in a corner somewhere, making a fool of himself in front of these people he does not know. The ground is wet, nearly all black from what he can see. His boots would probably be ruined after this expedition, covered in… everything that was on the streets of District 9.

_It is raining outside, and still Shadis wants the cadets to do a round of sparring out on the camp grounds. Why? Jean doesn’t understand his instructor’s logic and reasoning; he’s aiming to work for the king, to be protected from the blasted titans by the interior walls, not to fight with other men in the rain. He claims he can already defend himself with no problems._

_Jean and Marco decide to skip practice when no one is looking. They stumble through the mud, dirtying their recently shined boots with the brown sludge as they take shelter in no place other than the horse stalls. Marco sighs loudly when Jean slams the stable doors shut, protecting them from the downpour of rain outside._

_“Wow,” He sounds exasperated. “I never thought Shadis could be that harsh.”_

_Jean rolls his eyes, snorting. The horse to his right echoes his snort. “He’s a monster, I tell you.” he states simply. “No human feeling in his bones, I bet.”_

_“Aw, Jean. He isn’t that bad.” Marco snickers softly, leaning against a wooden beam. He reaches out to pet one of the horses. “He’s probably just wants us to be the best soldiers when we graduate.”_

_Jean shakes his head, droplets of rainwater flying from his damp hair. “Or he just wants to torture us.” he retorts. “I swear, this man is evil.”_

_This time, Marco laughs. It’s loud and hearty, his freckled cheeks dimpling as he smiles wide. It’s warm in the horse stalls, even though it smells strongly of horse and hay; those cheeks of Marco’s are starting to flush a light pink, and Jean feels himself biting his lower lip. He gulps, getting a grip on himself, and runs a hand through his dark blond hair._

_“So,” Marco pipes up after a while. There isn’t any sound but the rain beating down on their shelter and the horses shuffling in their stables. “Now that we’ve escaped from the ‘evil’ Shadis, what do we do now?” His back slides down the beam until he’s sitting on the dirt floor. At least it’s dry, unlike the world outside._

_Jean almost can’t allow himself to watch Marco, knowing he’ll just ruin the moment if he takes a peek. Marco seems oblivious to all this, his chocolate brown eyes staring brightly at Jean. Instead, the blonde goes to the back of the stables, where they keep the spare blankets for the horses when it gets too cold. He brings two over to Marco, laying one out on the ground. The other is used, when Marco scoots onto the laid out blanket, to drape around both their shoulders._

_If Jean imagines hard enough, he could pretend that Marco and he are on a picnic. There would be green grass all around them, speckled in spots of azul from the blue bonnets and white from the daisies growing endlessly in the pasture they sit on. Perhaps they are smart enough to bring along a basket full of all Marco and Jean’s favorite foods. They would dine and drink until they feel their bellies bulge from being so full. It would be such a treat to be that satisfied, unlike the meals in the camp mess hall. With the shortage of grain, it’s hard enough to eat a meal that doesn’t have the faint taste of paper pulp; Jean and Marco swear that someone is mixing sawdust into the breads and gravy as substitute for a portion of flour. There are barely enough rations at mealtime to keep each cadet’s tummies sated. Within a few hours after eating, Jean swears he hears his stomach growl in hunger._

_“‘S warm.” Marco states, sighing contently. He’s only a few inches away from Jean, and the blonde swears he can hear Marco breathing from this distance. “Thanks, Jean.”_

_Jean nods in reply, keeping his eyes trained on the horse in front of them, who is eyeing them warily. He’s comfortable in the silence, to be just like this with Marco in the time they have before Shadis comes looking for them. What he’s not expecting is the sound of Marco shuffling closer, his cheek resting on Jean’s shoulder and a hand on Jean’s thigh._

_It doesn’t feel uncomfortable. No, far from that. Jean’s breath hitches, and all he can see and notice is Marco, Marco, Marco. This, this moment feels so_ right _. He’s surprised at how natural all this feels. He’s never been this calm around Marco before. Taking his chances, Jean slides his hand over, slowly, and places it on top of Marco’s._

_Despite the frigid rain, Marco’s hand is warm, burning Jean’s pleasantly with its heat. The brunette doesn’t take his head away from Jean’s shoulder, nor does he flinch when Jean puts his hand over his. Instead, he turns his hand around, until his palm meets with Jean’s. His fingers inch along, parting just as Jean’s do, until they slot with each other. They’ve never been closer, he thinks. They’ve never been this comfy before._

_Jean and Marco, though they’ve tended these horse stalls before, ignore the hooved animals there, ignore the stench of crap around them, the scent of hay that makes their noses itch, and relish in the silence they have within the vicinity of each other._

Jean closes the eyes of a fallen comrade with the side of his hand, putting yet another tally onto his scrap of paper with a little note of who the dead is identified to be. He closes his eyes when he is done, if only for a quick second, before he opens them to look upon the grey world around him.

Everyone looks so pale, almost lifeless around him. He pulls at his harnesses, drawing them a little tauter. When he feels the tightness is almost painful, he stops. It’s a sign that he is still alive, still receptive to pain as ever.

His mind wanders, only until he reaches the corpses of two people. They look like a couple who met an unfortunate end. A man and a woman, he jots down quickly. Faces unknown. Their features are so marred, he would not be able to tell the couple’s sex if not for the clothing. Jean is about to turn away and move on, but something sticks out from the woman’s clothing and decor; a necklace. No, a locket attached to a chain. Jean glances around, side to side, before he lifts up the locket, undoing the clasp carefully.

 **Soulmate** , it reads on the engraved inside next to a still ticking watch.

Soulmate..?

_Marco gasps, the sound coming from his lips just short of a moan. “Jean,” he whispers against pinkened skin that is abundant with goosebumps._

_Jean presses kisses down Marco’s freckled neck, going all the way down to his clavicle. He wants to mark there, suck a bruise deep into it, so everyone will know who Marco is seeing. He wants to feel like he’s got someone, that he belongs with someone, if only Marco would allow that. The way Marco says his name almost makes Jean believe that Marco is his._

_They’re safe here for now, in the unused barracks that all the drop out cadets slept in before they were transferred back to where they came from. Sure, the place is dusty as hell, but neither Marco or Jean give a fuck right now. They’re too absorbed in each other to notice how the lint sticks to their sweaty backs, following them like shadows do._

_Jean rocks his naked hips against Marco’s, rutting together frantically until Marco stops him, pecking him sweetly on the lips before pushing the blonde back until he is sitting. Jean swears out loud when Marco_ crawls _towards him, plopping himself in Jean’s lap before he places both hands on Jean’s shoulders. He tilts his head to the side, exposing a beautiful slice of his neck, then begins to move._

_“Ah!” Jean barely has time to cry out. Marco is gyrating against him, rolling his hips and ass over Jean’s tenting crotch._

_Marco is swift, more agile than a coursing river. He looks at Jean, only at Jean, with a sultry, dark look in his eyes. His eyelashes frame them like feather dresses or boas; Jean can’t decide. Marco is rocking in his lap, rubbing their erections together in a sensual way Jean has never experienced before. When Marco uses Jean’s shoulders as leverage to pull himself up and grind Jean’s cock against his perky cheeks, Jean almost believes he’s gone to Heaven._

_“Ohh,” he breathes, pulling closer to Jean so the blonde can feast on his neck. This time, Jean doesn’t hesitate to bite gently, leaving bruises in his teeth’s wake. It comes out all red, pink and later on purple, such a mottled mess upon bronzed skin as Marco’s obtained quite a tan during the summer. “Connie’s gonna make fun of me when he sees those hickeys.” he laughs breathily, but doesn’t try to stop Jean._

_Jean scoffs, raising his head up to kiss Marco on the lips. They kiss sloppily, though their passion makes up for the messiness. Marco’s tongue slips out to trace Jean’s lower lip, poking at it teasingly, as if asking for entrance. Jean do nothing but oblige; he is relieved to know that Marco wants this just as bad as him._

_They seem to dance together, their tongues, smoothing over one another while exploring new places in their hot caverns. Marco’s hands link together behind Jean’s neck, pressing his naked figure to Jean’s own, undulating against him as they kiss. Having Marco writhing over Jean makes them wanton with lust, need for each other to find release. Jean sneaks a hand up to wrap around his and Marco’s cocks, holding them in a tight grip._

_Marco moans again, nodding into the kiss as Jean strokes his hand upward, twisting his wrist as he goes. The friction, the movement, is so good, just short of lighting a flame in his core. Jean handles them, stroking him and Marco in earnest, but Marco wants_ more _. He wants to feel more, even though this is pleasurable in itself._

_“Wait, wait.” he pants, unhooking his arms from Jean for a moment, and then climbs to their clothes in search of something. When he finds the vial he’s looking for, he hands it to Jean, turning over on all fours, his chest flush to the bed they’re on with his ass high up in the air._

_“M-marco,” Jean can barely speak, not believing his eyes._

_Marco presents himself so damn prettily; his arms reach back, hands spreading his cheeks open for Jean to see. His pucker is so small, colored in a luscious rose color that gets darker toward the middle. It’s like a fruit, like a cherry, notes Jean; he keeps the vial of lubricant oil in his palm, but leans forward, his face pressing forward until he mouths at that cherry-like entrance. It’s weird, tasting Marco down there for the first time, but it excites Jean, because he knows his tongue is making Marco feel good._

_“Jea-ohhh,” he mewls, breath coming out in harsh puffs. It feels almost like a tickle, but it’s more sensual, more sexual than that. Jean’s tongue darts out to lick a stripe over his hole, and Marco’s nearly gasping for more. He feels himself tense before he loosens up, and Jean takes that as an advantage to progress further._

_The blonde groans, wiggling his tongue against Marco’s pucker until it opens up, and he slips it inside, licking around curiously. Marco is mewling against the mattress, not even bothering to muffle his voice as it builds higher and louder. Carefully, he pauses to uncork the oil vial, spilling some of the contents over three fingers. He sniffs it; it’s odorless and thin, but he dares not taste it._

_Jean gulps. “I’m going to put one in.” he declares softly, as if he is unsure of himself. But Marco is ready, pushing his hips back for Jean to prep him._

_He breaches the brunette with one finger, inserting it timidly. Jean shouldn’t be surprised when Marco moans loudly, practically rolling his ass back and taking Jean’s finger all the way to the knuckle, but he is. He starts up a gentle rhythm, pushing in and sliding out, crooking his finger slightly and dragging it along the silky walls of Marco’s innermost place._

_“Another,” mutters Marco suddenly after he keens when Jean swears he’s found his sweet spot. “Add another, Jean.”_

_“Oh, Marco.”_

_Jean inhales deeply, steadying himself, and adds a second one into Marco, eyes fixed on Marco’s rim stretching to accommodate his fingers. He begins scissoring them, spreading him wide. Marco is so tight, so warm and velvety that Jean can’t imagine what it’d feel like to have his dick in there. He’s afraid he’ll break Marco._

_Marco seems to think otherwise, though, because he throws his head back, balancing himself on one forearm. He reaches back, grabbing hold of Jean’s wrist when the blonde is about to insert a third finger, and shoves those three digits into his hole. Marco can’t help but lick his teeth in contentment; he feels so full and, yet, it’s still not enough._

_“Whoa, whoa,” Jean looks alarmed when Marco starts to fuck himself on his fingers. “Slow down, Marco.”_

_Marco shakes his head, pressing back and crying out when those fingertips brush his prostate. “Nooo,” he’s whining. “More, more,” Marco tries again, “More, I need you, Jean.”_

_There is no way Jean can deny such a request like that. He didn’t think any other man could resist if he heard Marco asking to be fucked, either. Grunting shallowly, Jean eases his digits out of Marco, covering them in more lubricant before he grips his cock, giving it a perfunctory once over with lube. He’s so excited that he’s shaking. At least, his hands are. It takes a bit before he feels like he can guide himself into Marco._

_Taking himself by the base, Jean lines up with Marco’s entrance, which winks at him ever so devilishly. He doesn’t know if Marco is doing this on purpose, but he takes it to heart and stores it in his memory for future jerk-off sessions._

_“Ready..?” he half-asks, but it’s really just for himself. Jean doesn’t even know if he’s actually ready for this._

_Marco lets out a high-pitched whine, nodding frantically. He arches his back, waiting for Jean to make the first move. His breath hitches when he feels the tip of Jean’s cock at his pucker, dripping clear fluid over it like a leaky faucet. He waits, and waits.._

_And is short of squealing when Jean plunges into him._

_Jean immediately pulls out, scared he might have torn something. “Are you okay?” He pulls Marco’s cheeks apart further, trying to inspect the area for any injury._

_Marco turns over quickly, batting away Jean’s hands, only to wrap his legs around the blonde’s upper waist. “Do me,” he says._

_“But you were screaming.” objects Jean, still not sure of himself._

_“Trust me,” Marco says, looking Jean in the eye. “I liked it.”_

_“But-,”_

_“No buts,” Marco smiles gently, and Jean knows that everything will be okay. “Only my butt. And that’s what I’d like you to fuck.”_

_“Marco…” Jean buries his face in the crook of Marco’s shoulder. He shifts again and, this time, does not stop his entrance until he is fully sheathed within the brunette._

_It’s hot, to near boiling temperature inside of Marco, and Jean can’t help but groan. Marco’s hole squeezes him like a vice. It’s a bit difficult to move; he inches out, all the way until just the crown is in Marco, then drives back in with a forceful snap of his hips. The wail Marco makes is gorgeous. It spurs Jean on to continue, to keep thrusting back and forth until he finds that good spot in him. He angles himself differently each time, watching Marco’s reactions, searching for that one right place._

_“N-aahhh!”_

_Marco claps a hand over his mouth, brown eyes rimmed with tears. It felt so_ good _when Jean did that._

_“Right there?” asks Jean, who has a smirk painted on his lips. Marco squeaks out a tiny “yes” before Jean memorizes the angle; he plummets into Marco with a faster, harder pace. He removes Marco’s hand that’s covering that sinfully delicious mouth. “No,” he says. “I want to hear you. I want to hear all of it, Marco.”_

_Unchecked moans flow out from Marco’s lips like a full creek. His hands trail up and down Jean’s back, nail raking red welts in their path. He’s lying there, wrapped around Jean like a pretzel, taking it all and feeling positively everything that Jean has to offer. It feels exquisite, so damn good, yet it’s still missing something. He arches his spine, rocking his ass back._

_“Yes! Jean!” he cries. That’s it; it feels amazing this way. With every thrust in from Jean, Marco rocks back into it, slamming his ass down until Jean is balls-deep in him each time. There’s a fist of pressure in his belly that’s getting tighter and tighter, threatening to undo itself any moment now._

_It looks like Jean isn’t going to last, either. Sweat leaves a sheen on his body, all along his lean arms, his back, his forehead. He’s blushing down to his clavicle, breaths labored as he piledrives into Marco._

_He grits his teeth to stop himself from coming. He craves to see Marco come first, to see him find ecstasy and spray their stomachs with white. “Are you close?” he pants. When Marco nods an affirmative, he brings his hand to Marco’s hard cock, stroking it fast. “Come on, get it.”_

_“Oh, Jean,” Marco chants his name over and over again, and then he’s coming._

_Stars explode behind Marco’s eyelids as his eyes roll back, eyelashes fluttering wildly as he seeks purchase, the ball he has in his belly unraveling. It’s one of the best orgasms he’s ever felt. What feels like an electric shock races through his nervous system, his extremities tingling with a popping, fizzy sensation. His body shivers all over, his muscles snapping taut before they relax. His head is in the clouds, way beyond that. He’s seeing not only the stars, but also the entire galaxy. The milky way paints his vision, all so beautifully._

_Marco’s cock spills his seed over Jean’s hand, hitting Jean’s stomach as well as his own, coloring them in pearly white essence. When Marco comes to, he’s moaning, capturing Jean’s head in his hands and bringing him down so he can kiss him._

_The kiss is frantic from Jean’s end, languid and passionate from Marco’s as Jean’s thrusts begin to go erratic. He’s going as hard and deep as he physically can, growling low in his throat. Marco is clenching him, squeezing down rhythmically and twitching. Marco is tightening around him like a vice. It’s too much and, with that, the bucket overflows; he is shooting his load into Marco’s hot body._

_He visits the same galaxy, the same Cloud Nine that Marco had been on just moments before, high in the sky with no air to breath until he comes crashing down back to reality, with his hips twisting shallowly from the aftershocks of euphoria. He attempts to pull out, but Marco grabs onto his buttocks and holds him there, kissing him like he needs Jean to breathe. Marco puffs out something that sounds like a “thank you” between their kisses, but Jean can’t be sure. They’ve just had sex because they were bored, because they were horny, because they think they can trust each other… because Jean may even like Marco. Because Jean has this certain hope that they were meant for each other._

_“Thank you.”_

_Jean really couldn’t have asked for more._

They come around another corner, stomping through a slightly shaded area in District 9. The buildings look mostly intact, save for a few missing tiles on the roofs. Jean thinks back to the locket he’d found; he had decided to keep it with him, and he pulls it out of his pants pocket to look at it again.

Jean remembers that there is this wive’s tale, a silly one at that, about soulmates. It sounded so surreal, absurd, to Jean when he first heard it, but Marco seems to believe everything he’s told.

If Jean recalls it correctly, it’s that, when one’s soulmate is failed to be protected, all colored vision will be taken from the surviving soulmate.

That sounds too ridiculous to be true, but here Jean is, without any color in his sight but grey, black and white. His sight is like the newest invention: flash photography that captures a scene in all black and white. Does this mean that the myth is true? And, if it is, then who is his soulmate? Who _was_ his soulmate? He cannot put a finger on who it might be.

_”Say, Jean,” Marco pipes up one evening when they are lounging in the barracks together._

_Jean makes a noncommittal noise, glancing over at Marco, who is lying on Jean’s bed while Jean is sitting on the edge, trying to study his notes for tomorrow. He still can’t wrap his brain around the physics and dynamics that they’ve just learned during training. It’s a lot harder in theory than it is actually doing the thing._

_“I’ve been wondering,” Marco says. “Do you believe in soulmates?”_

_“Soulmates?” Fuck learning theory. Jean will do it later. He closes his notebook, turning until his face is right next to Marco’s when he lies down._

_Marco brings a leg in between Jean’s, settling them together like two pieces of a puzzle. Marco’s only got his shorts on, Jean realizes, because it’s so hot in the bunkers tonight. There’s a heatwave over the land, and Jean’s contemplating going shirtless, just like Marco is. Jean does his best not to stare at Marco’s dusky brown nipples that he so wants to put his mouth on. Now is not the time for such indulgences. There are other people in the room as this is the barracks, after all._

_“Yeah, soulmates. Like, you know, when you find The One.” Marco explains. “And then you marry them.”_

_“Hm.” Jean grunts, putting his right arm over Marco’s left. They lie there like that, holding each other like lovers, even though they are not. “I don’t know about marrying.” he says finally._

_Marco sighs softly, and Jean can feel the puffs of air on his cheek. It’s soothing, when he thinks about it. “Well, I guess soulmates don’t_ have _to marry each other. But it’s nice if they do, I think.”_

_“How so?” Jean doesn’t know what Marco is trying to get at._

_“I don’t know.” Marco says after a while. His chocolate eyes are looking into Jean’s own hazel ones. “I just thought… if one day there were no more titans on this earth, maybe we would… we_ could _possibly marry-,”_

_“Marry?” interrupts Jean._

_“Marry our soulmates.” Marco finishes, a tint of pink on his freckled cheeks. That blush threatens to swallow his freckles as it grows deeper._

_Jean hums then. He wonders who his soulmate might be, if he even has one. “What if I don’t have a soulmate, Marco?”_

_“You do.” the brunette deadpans, but immediately begins to explain, “Everyone does, whether they realize it or not. My momma used to tell me that if I ever lost my soulmate, I’d know.”_

_“How, though?” Jean doesn’t know. Not yet._

_Marco’s arm encircles Jean’s waist, drawing them together so they’re in a true embrace. His voice is so low, it almost comes out as a whisper, “She said that I’d never see color again. Like God would take away my gift to see everything beautiful in its most vivid form.”_

_Jean shivers at the thought. “But you can’t really believe that, can you?” he counteracts. “I mean, have you ever met someone who lost their soulmate? Are they not able to see in color anymore?”_

_“I don’t think I have, Jean.” Marco’s lips are so close to his. One centimeter or two moved, and thy might as well be kissing. They twitch into a gentle smile. “But I know one thing for sure. If I’m alive, right now, and I can still see how the hazel in your eyes hit the mossy green middle that is rimmed around your pupil, then I know for sure I’ve got a soulmate.”_

“Is that… are you..?” Jean is stuck, frozen in his spot.

He cannot move, his muscles will not allow him to. He can barely believe his eyes. What he sees is absolutely terrible. There is no way this can be. No goddamned way he has been allowed to stumble upon such a horrific discovery. The med team can suck it for all Jean cares. Fuck them and their stupid cleanup in District 9. He never wanted to do it anyway. Why now, of all things? Why this? Why _him_?

Jean jumps when he hears someone talking to him; a woman. She asks if he knew Marco. Asks if he can identify the half-eaten man slouched against the side of a building in District 9. Asks him to jot down all he knows on his scrap of dirtied paper for the written files later.

No.

No fucking way.

Jean just stares, and stares, not even sure if he replied to the woman interrogating him or not. He just can’t get his eyes off of that slumped figure. That man, rotten and decaying in front of him. He’s got one eye trained on the ground. Only half of him is recognizable, but Jean can tell exactly who he is.

Those same freckles are layered on sunken, ashy cheeks. That dark espresso hair cut unfashionably, always parted in the middle to give it a neater appeal. Those dark lashes that fluttered so beautifully are now sticky, clumped together from tears and dirt and blood. His once pillow-plush lips with a beautiful shine are now thin, pale as a piece of rubber. But Jean can’t see any of the color. Nothing. It’s all just black and white for him, as grey as the day is.

Marco is dead, and he is the first one to identify it.

Part of Jean wants to break down and cry, wants to wail and scream and bury his face in what remains of Marco’s chest. He yearns to build his anger, to hurt something or himself for Marco being dead. He wants to lie on the floor, press his cheek to the hard ground and stare off to the distance until he can no longer feel anything. All these emotions well up inside of him, and yet Jean can do nothing but be dragged along with the rest of his quad, Marco’s body branded into his memory forever.

_These are their last days at camp before they graduate. They’ve worked so hard to get where they are now and, damn right, Jean knows he deserves to get ranked in the top ten along with Marco._

_Everyone is out and about, training hard for the last of their final tests or hanging out with their friends for one of the last times, but Marco and Jean are nowhere amidst them. No, instead they’re back in the emptied cabins, the one that they first had sex in._

_Jean all but rips the clothing off of Marco and himself, kissing him hard with urgency. Their tongues battle for dominance, breathing ragged, lips smashed against one another. They throw themselves onto one of the beds, grinding and groaning against each other._

_“God, Jean.” Marco gasps. “I can’t,”_

_Jean doesn’t need to say anything, just trails down until his lips are at Marco’s stiff cock. He sucks with earnest, fingers playing with Marco’s soft balls, pulling off to drag his mouth up and down the side of the brunette’s length before he goes down further, licking and massaging his tongue over Marco’s taint. It feels so good, so good for both of them. Jean feels as though he might come from just blowing Marco._

_All too soon, their orgasms wash over them, like a tidal wave of pure pleasure crashing into their bodies. Marco can barely contain his moaning, thigh and ass muscles spasming as he comes down from his high. Jean follows shortly, palming himself until he, too, is coming, and lets out a big, relieved sigh when he does. It feels as if a gigantic weight has been lifted off his shoulders._

_They’re going to move to the inner walls, to work for the king and all his royal bastardness. Soon, Jean knows, he may confess to Marco how much he loves him. They’d have no worries about having a relationship. And, hell, Marco may say what he wants about soulmates and that hoax of a myth, but Jean knows he won’t let this future opportunity slip from his hands._

_But he is wise enough not to say anything about his feelings just yet. Tomorrow will be their official trek to the inner walls. Perhaps then Jean will have enough courage to do it._

_Marco pulls him in for long, gentle kiss. They still have to clean up, but Jean can stand the mess a little longer for a smooch like this. Marco keeps them in an embrace, giving kiss after kiss as his hands roam all over Jean’s back. When they break apart, both of them are breathless._

_“I’m so ready to start a new life.” Jean pipes up, after they’ve cleaned and are starting to redress. “Think about it, Marco. We_ graduated _today.”_

_Marco lets out a chuckle. “I knooow,” He sounds so sing-song and happy. “And we start it together.”_

_Together. Jean attempts for Marco’s wording not to get to him. “Yeah. I’m… I’m..”_

_“Jean?” Marco touches him on the arm softly._

_“Huh?” Jean doesn’t realize he’s rambling until Marco claps a hand over his mouth, then kisses the top of his knuckles. When he draws back, his grin is gleaming._

_“Congratulations on graduating.” he says._

_Jean lets Marco slide his hand off his mouth before surging up and kissing Marco hard on the lips. He can’t contain his joy. He sees yellow, yellow like the bright sun shining down on the earth. Yellow, like a flame that lights the entire room so one can see._

_“Congratulations.”_

The bonfire is blindingly white in Jean’s colorless vision. The surviving post-cadets stand around it, wishing their late friends and comrades goodbye. The smell of burning flesh is sickening to all of them, but no one dares to stray away and gag in a corner; almost everyone has seen the worst of it.

Jean knows that Marco’s body is in the flaming mass that they’ve called a bonfire. He blames himself for doubting Marco, for doubting him about the whole soulmate ordeal. He was right, and now Jean’s lost his color vision all together.

He should have listened, Jean scolds himself. He should have confessed his feelings earlier. He should have kept Marco close, never out of his sight to be chewed by a titan. He should have, could have, would have… and yet, nothing he thinks now will make a difference.

But, even though he cannot see color any longer, he can still envision it clearly in his mind. When he goes back to those memories, he can see Marco, clear as day. In those memories, Marco is as colorful as a rainbow.

_Marco paces back and forth, hands behind his back, head tilted downward in thought. He’s worrying, Jean can see. Worrying about all the possibilities that might come in the next twenty-four hours._

_“You’re going to get worry lines on your forehead that way, you know.” Jean offers nonchalantly. It’s not something that will help the situation, but it might get Marco to stop his stiff walking._

_Marco stops pacing, thank god, only to turn to Jean with a very concerned face. “You mean I’ll become old and wrinkled even quicker than I already am?” he retorts, his brown eyes muddled from the stress. “Jean, what if I don’t live a day past tomorrow?”_

_“You will.” Jean stands up from his sitting position. He is stubborn, he knows this already, but he doesn’t want to hear anything about Marco dying. Not while Jean’s still alive. “But you won’t if you keep thinking that way.”_

_Marco huffs dramatically, his full, rosy lips settling into a pout. He crosses his arms. “I can’t not think that way, Jean. We just lost so many friends out there. And what about Eren? I’m so worried.”_

_“I know, I know.” Jean has no idea what to say or do to assure everything will be alright. For god’s sake, he doesn’t even believe himself that everything will turn out okay._

_Just then, Marco puts his hands in Jean’s, locking eyes with him. “Promise me you will never forget me.” he says, voice dead serious._

_“What? Marco, I--,”_

_“Promise,” Marco insists._

_Jean, who has a declination on his tongue, swallows it back down. He can’t not promise Marco he’ll never forget him. “I… promise.” he finally gets out._

_“And promise me, even if we aren’t soulmates, that you will keep on fighting for us.” Marco says. “Promise that you’ll keep fighting for humanity’s sake, even if you work with the king when I am not there.”_

_“But Marco,”_

_“No buts,” Jean clicks his mouth shut, and Marco continues, “Promise you’ll do that for me, Jean. Even if we are not soulmates. Please.”_

_Jean inhales softly, before breathing out a ragged sigh of air. He hates to think of things like this, but he loves Marco too much. If this makes Marco happy, he’ll do it. He’ll do it and hope that nothing bad will happen to them._

_“I promise, Marco. I promise to fight for us, even when you are not here.”_

_Jean still can’t believe what he’s said as he is pulled into a hug, Marco whispering thank yous into his neck while tears stream from his brown, brown eyes._

“Have you made a decision?”

Jean shakes himself out of his flashback. His face is grim, and his soul is so tired. He just wants a break from life, but the universe won’t allow it. He blinks slowly, turning to the captain who is speaking to him.

“You’re sure you want to go into the Survey Corps, kid?”

He’s not going to be offered to back down again after this, but Jean is more than ready to commit to his word. This is all for Marco; he had promised this to his soulmate. He can’t fail his partner now. Not now, not ever.

Jean nods. “Positive.”

He will not let what happened to him, happen to anyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this fic! Did you cry? Did you feel what Jean felt?  
> Please let me know; simply click the kudos button and write a quick comment about what you thought of it. I would love to read all your feedback (and reply to it!).
> 
> Again, Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year!  
> x Kristine


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